At least once a year, in ward conference, members of the Church have the opportunity to sustain their ward and stake leaders.  As we raise our hands to sustain our bishoprics and stake presidencies we are saying, in effect, “I believe these men have been called by the Lord, and that they are the Lord’s authorized representatives.  I support them, and I will strive to do the things they ask me to do.”

From time to time these men ask us to alter our lives by issuing callings to us.  These are calls to service.  These are opportunities to bless the lives of others, and to experience personal growth.

Since I joined the Church in 1967, I have held scores of callings, and have probably issued hundreds of callings to others.  I am absolutely convinced that the callings I’ve held were inspired of God.  The callings I’ve issued have only been done after much prayer and careful consideration.  I know by the sacred experiences that I’ve had that the callings I’ve issued have also been inspired of God.

On very few occasions did the person to whom I issued the calling turn me down.  This is as it should be.  As members of the Church, we are under covenant to do what the Lord, through His authorized representatives, asks us to do.

Very rarely are we eager to change the rhythms of our lives by accepting these proffered calls.  Usually we have many self doubts as we wonder if we’re capable of doing what we’re being asked to do.

After observing many hundreds of people, including myself, performing in our callings, I am convinced that callings come to us not so much for what they enable us to do for others, as for what the callings are intended to do for us.  Callings are opportunities for personal growth.  If we turn a proffered calling down, the Lord will provide someone else to help the person we might have touched; but how in the world will we ever learn the lessons and make the growth that would have occurred had we exercised faith and undertook the service we were asked to perform?  It might well be hundreds of years before we’re eventually able to bridge the gaps caused by our faithlessness.

To illustrate, I well remember the most frightening calling that I ever received.  I’d already served in dozens of positions in the wards I’d lived in, and felt confident that I could do anything reasonable that the Lord would ask.  The bishop called me into his office, and sat me down.  It was obvious that he was going to issue a calling.  Rather unworthily, as I reviewed in my mind the positions I’d already filled, I said to him, “Bishop, you can’t call me to anything that I haven’t already done.”

I can still see that office.  I can still see the patient, “wanta  bet?” smile on Bishop Dennis Fuller’s face as he proceeded to call me to be ward chorister.

Me?  Ward chorister!?  I didn’t know a thing about leading music.  I would look like a perfect fool standing in front of a congregation or a ward choir flapping my arms.

I wish I could have been Bishop Fuller so that I could have watched all the color and confidence drain out of my face as he issued that calling.  I wasn’t aware of his watchfulness at the time, but from the perspective I enjoy after all these years, I can look back in my mind’s eye and see him anxiously watching me as I stood before the congregation that first time to lead the music.  How he must have prayed!  I’m sure he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw me trying, and succeeding, over the weeks that followed.  In my mind’s eye I can see my spiritual leaders on the other side of the veil doing the same.  I’m sure they all felt a great deal of satisfaction as they watched me grow from week to week.

The only qualification I possessed to hold such a calling was the fact that I could carry a tune and sing on key.  The only advantage I had was that I had a wife who could teach me to lead music.  She and I spent the next two weeks sitting together on the piano bench as she played the piano and taught me the patterns for the various beats.  She played the hymns, as I lead the imaginary congregations.

It was a humbling and terrifying experience to stand before a real congregation and to lead the singing that first time.  I didn’t think of it at the time, but all of those good people—my friends—had raised their hands and sustained me to that position.  They wanted me to succeed.  They all sang.  Not one of them made a negative comment about my lack of ability or about my performance.  (They were probably all afraid that if I didn’t make the grade, they’d get the job!)

It was a humbling and terrifying experience the first time I stood before a ward choir and lead them in preparation to sing in front of the ward.  For some reason all of those good people came when I asked them.  They knew I wasn’t a choir director.  I still remember the song we sang.  I still remember how beautiful we sounded.  I still remember the surge of confidence I felt when I realized that with the Lord’s help I could do a really hard thing.

At that time it was the custom for the wards in the stake to rotate responsibilities for handling the music in stake conference.  I was petrified with fear when I learned that in one year’s time it would be my responsibility to lead the congregation and the choir in stake conference.  Mercifully, before the year was up, my calling changed, and someone else had to do it.

My callings changed frequently back then.  The Lord was spreading me around and giving me experience everywhere He could.  He knew that I would have lead the music in stake conference, and He knew that I knew that I could succeed with His help.  But it was time for me to serve elsewhere, learn some other lessons, and to grow in a new area.

I think I can safely say that not one other person gained a thing from my service as ward chorister and choir director.  My service helped the ward meetings flow seamlessly along, but no one except me learned or gained anything concrete.

I, however, gained immensely, and learned lessons that were huge.  When I later found myself in meetings with the stake presidencies of the region, guess who found himself leading the opening hymns?  No one else knew how to do it, so no one else’s hand went up when a volunteer was asked for.

When I later found myself in a meeting in the temple with a group of prospective ordinance workers, guess who found himself leading the opening hymn?  Guess who was asked to sing a solo during the Christmas devotional for the ordinance workers in the temple?  Guess who now leads the singing in the weekly preparation meetings for ordinance workers?  Guess who’s grateful and honored to be able to do those things in that most sacred of places?  Guess who’s heart doesn’t skip a single beat when now asked to lead the singing in ward sacrament meetings, or in stake meetings?

No one in the world benefitted from my calling as ward chorister but me.  What if I’d said, “Bishop, I can’t do that!  I don’t know a thing about leading music.”

The bishop would have found someone else.  Someone else would have gotten the blessings.  James Kerns would never in a hundred years have again gotten the opportunities to learn what he learned, and would never have experienced the multiple joys that have come from learning to do this simple thing.

When the bishop or the stake president or the Relief Society president or the elders quorum president says, “We need someone to do thus and so,” do you find your hand going up, or do you find yourself feeling guilty as you sit on your hands?  I testify that the Lord loves a willing servant.

Isaiah wrote, “I heard the voice of the Lord, saying:  Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?  Then I said:  Here am I; send me.

“And he said:  Go…”  (2 Ne. 16:8, 9).

From the October 2005 Ensign comes the following story:

“Brother Thamas, a thin elderly man, sat by himself, often some distance from the other members who gathered to greet each other at the beginning of our Sunday meetings.  His was a small figure, humble in appearance.  He had been recently baptized and had no family.  His Spanish, although understandable, was a mixture of Portuguese, French, German, English, and his native Hungarian.  In brief conversations with those members who tried to fellowship him, he spoke of faraway Hungary.

“One day the bishop asked him to speak for a few minutes in sacrament meeting.  He was surprised but accepted.  We too were surprised to hear his name announced.  We prepared ourselves for a brief and simple testimony.

“But once he stood at the pulpit, this brother’s appearance was transformed in a most remarkable manner, and he immediately captured our attention.  His posture became erect, almost military, although he wore no uniform or medals.  His manner was that of a soldier—old, but proud.  Slowly but confidently he began his compelling story.

“During World War II he had served in an infantry battalion in an area where constant combat covered the earth with blood, pain, and death.  His squad was commanded by a sergeant who had earned the hatred of his men through extraordinary harshness.  One terrible night a mortar shell exploded not far from the sergeant, critically wounding him.  The commanding officer stopped a dilapidated truck that often passed by to pick up the wounded and dying and take them behind the lines to be cared for or buried.

“The squad watched the fate of their dying leader from a distance.  Not one went to help him.  The officer asked for a volunteer to carry the man to the truck and accompany him behind the lines.  No one volunteered.

“Then, after something of a pause, Brother Thamas stepped forward.  ‘Moved by compassion,’ he told us, ‘I decided to carry the unfortunate fellow and go with him on his trip.  I took care of him the best I could during his long and painful ride.

“‘I returned later in search of my squad.  When I reached the front, I learned that fierce bombardment had wiped out a large number of men on the awful night of my departure.  Not one man from my squad had survived apart from myself.  And then I understood.  I thanked God for having moved me to compassion.  He saved my life and gave me a chance to hear the restored gospel.’

“Our simple affection for a bent old man changed to appreciation, admiration, and gratitude for his having shared an example of the pure love of Christ.”  (Juan Aldo Leone, ENSIGN, October 2005, pp. 66-67).

Each of us has raised our hands to sustain our bishopric.  I think when we refuse the callings they offer us, we are lowering our hands, and withdrawing our support.  Those of us who have been to the temple are under covenant to do anything that the Lord asks of us.  I hope that we’ll think twice before refusing the opportunities that are offered.  I know that we’ll come out better people if we’ll do the things that the Lord’s representatives ask.  I hope that when volunteers are asked for, that our hands won’t be slow to be raised.

The Lord blesses those who are willing servants.

When the Lord asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” may we be ready to answer, “Here am I; send me.”